There were only two opportunities availed to humankind he thought as he scanned the ceiling looking at the dim shadows dancing from the stirring of another day just outside his bedroom window. One was from the perspective of a woman that valued what people thought and felt inside. And the other from that of a man who most of the time didn’t give a damn. At least until much later in life. Perhaps it was a chemical thing? It sure wasn’t religion as religion for the most part now existed in a social vacuum. Something that many mentioned in conversation out of some sense of social obligation. The slushy swish of a car on wet pavement outside a natural segue to the plateau of the next thought he was ascending to. That might be too conventional? His eyes now focused straight and empty like two adjacent manhole covers sucking in the thoughts swirling over them. He was alone, Though it seemed from his intimate experience of women they would never tell him anyway. Certainly not the answer he wanted to hear and not in the way that he wanted to hear it. Perhaps that is why he found himself alone and posing chess games with his mind before the start of another day? Copernicus had said that the Earth traveled around the Sun and everyone today was forced by convention to believe him. But as a man he knew that for his side of the species it was as much a battle as to whom that honor would most properly reside. Maybe he was a bug? Some kind of termite that burrowed mindlessly ahead unaware that his own particular type of universe involved billions of others of his kind that he was unlikely to see. But one that had all others like him unknowingly condemned to perform the various functions of life in the exact same way. Nicholas was his name but maybe more of a name tag for his phylum than his species?
He rolled out of the covers into the unpromising grayness of a mist driven Sunday morning wet horizon feeling his internals shifting about. The light of the sun drained of all color leaching it out of the dim corridors around him. What is a man but a worm turned inside out? A big convoluted inner tube wound around itself in some useful but inexplicable manner to the mind. The bright idea to grow legs and crawl up upon the land so many billions of years ago being one of the many compounded fatal mistakes. How much nicer it might have been to remain swimming in the saline tainted waters of prehistory like some inert tuber swaying back and forth free flowing? No, that was not how things worked. It was always an oddball that came out of nowhere within the species that fucked it up for the rest. God, I hope that I am not him he mused. He looked outside at the grid-like matrix of roads and houses that extended into an amorphous dark gray mush. No great all encompassing impressions of any consequence beyond an uneasy feeling in the bottom of his belly. A hollow emptiness significant of a desire for being filled. Topped off like the gas tank of his car that sat devoid of consciousness but would feign the power of existence when tickled by the spark of a circuit being closed. Motivation? What in the Hell was that to him. He had run his tires bald chasing for a sense of something that he could not find. It wasn’t praise or money though they were ever in short supply. It was something implanted within him. Not like a spurt of new life like a baby found in the womb. Something else invisible and cloaked masterfully elusive. Something not quite of his own concoction as a consequence of unintended life experience as the college textbooks on psychology might suggest. Just something.
But like his original thought laying on the flat of his back launched once again into the absurd fallacy of this waking existence an ongoing drama with no discernible hint of its conclusion. Maybe women always hoped for a happy ending as their inherent maternal nature ever desired the mandate of something safe? As the launching pad for the human species that was probably their right. But the solipsism generated for those that were all too eager to inseminate them hoping for the best consequences were ever unmindful of what they were getting themselves in for. The brain as usual a completely useless accessory once again. Who cared at the end of the day if this was so and that wasn’t and what had supposedly happened way back when? You did what you thought was right which after all was simply a matter of habit. Something that you had gotten away with umpteen times int he past that no one else seemed to comment on. The hackles of society very straight and razor sharp but aligned in such a manner to allow one to keep from being cut if they just paid attention. Again, another male oriented pearl clawed out of the shell. For a man you could mark your daily existence monthly by where the piles of dust around the room lay undisturbed. For a woman there was likely to be no telltale dust at all? Perhaps that summed up the perpetual gulf between the two? Men made history and women eventually swept it away. Maybe that is why the book or the scroll was really invented he thought? If anyone remained as the fixed center of things as a matter of universal congruence beyond the light switch then what hope was there for anyone else forced to perpetually orbit eternally around it?